


dancing in the dark (you between my arms)

by aykepoll



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: (at least my bastardised version of it), Ballroom Dancing, Dancing, F/M, Falling In Love, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Romance, Romantic Gestures, actually there's not much dancing in this fic, firecrackers, honestly you could read this as friendship too i guess, lapslock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-05
Updated: 2019-06-05
Packaged: 2020-04-08 03:27:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,255
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19098820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aykepoll/pseuds/aykepoll
Summary: “are you stupid? have you seen me dance?” heat rushes to her cheeks as the words escape her mouth. if he hadn’t laughed at her then, he would now.“yeah, that’s why I’m asking you,” hong kong says, fiddling with one of his suspender straps. he glances to the side, eyes fixed on something beyond them. voice dipping slightly as he continues. “look, england promised extra pudding at dinner for the best pair, and i, like, really want that pudding.”in which england tries to teach his colonies the waltz, leading to singapore and hong kong teaming up to get some pudding (at least, that's how hong kong puts it).





	dancing in the dark (you between my arms)

**Author's Note:**

> working title: dance dance revolution  
> had plans to cover more dance styles but i only managed to finish the waltz, so here you go!  
> apologies for:  
> 1\. lapslock  
> 2\. any grammatical errors because i'm pretty sure i switched tenses halfway 
> 
> enjoy!

_ballroom- waltz_

singapore picks at her pinafore, frowning down at her stockinged feet. she’d kicked off her mary janes as soon as the lesson had started, counting on england’s preoccupation with teaching _all_ the colonies ballroom dancing to shield her from any rebuke. also, australia had removed his shoes and _his socks._ england had no right to scold her, not when there were far more serious offenders.

honestly, socks and shoes and stockings were the least of her problems right now. the issue was the waltz that her feet just. wouldn’t. stick. fine, she would be the first to admit that she wasn’t a _great_ dancer, lacking india’s natural rhythm or canada’s musicality, but. ballroom had rules. how to hold yourself, how to hold your partner, whether your heel goes first or your toes do, there were rules upon rules and infractions and points gained and lost. ballroom had _rules,_ and singapore was good at rules.

so why was she so bad at ballroom? not that she expected to be world-class on her first try (that was saved for the next attempt ), but she had practiced. yesterday had been spent holed up in england’s library reading every book or journal on the art, and practicing muffled box steps on the carpeted floor. once the gramophone had started spinning, however, nothing seemed to go right.

teeth sinking into her bottom lip, she tries again, arms up in an imaginary hold, stepping in time to the tinny music. “one and two and three and one and- _ack_.” as if possessed by a spectre with two left feet, she missed the count again. singapore exhales sharply, glancing around at the others, engrossed in their own movements. perhaps she could sneak out without england noticing and leave this humiliation behind, as much as she despised the idea of giving up. honestly, it was surprising that hong kong hadn’t already sought her out to poke fun at her failings in this area, considering how intensely they competed sometimes. speaking of hong kong-

there’s a tap on her shoulder, and she spins around, coming face to face with the devil himself, mouth pulled into a small smirk. his brown hair is slightly ruffled, the only evidence of any physical exertion. crossing her arms, she raises her chin, regarding him with a look. _what does he want this time?_

he surprises her when he sinks into a half-bow, hand extending as he asks: “may I have this dance?” _oh._ her eyes widen, flickering over to where england is hollering at them to get into pairs. but why her, of all the people in the room? pretty seychelles with her quick steps would be a far better ballroom partner, and he should have been one of the many colonies vying for her hand. instead, he was on the other side, asking her to dance with him. why? to mock her missteps, to show-off as she stumbled? _wow, if she’s aliterating already, she’s in deep water._

“are you stupid? have you seen me dance?” heat rushes to her cheeks as the words escape her mouth. if he hadn’t laughed at her then, he would now.

“yeah, that’s why I’m asking you,” hong kong says, fiddling with one of his suspender straps. he glances to the side, eyes fixed on something beyond them. voice dipping slightly as he continues. “look, england promised extra pudding at dinner for the best pair, and i, like, really want that pudding.”

“that… that doesn’t exactly answer my question, hong kong.” or rather, it does, in true hong kong style, hiding behind smoke and bright lights and mirrors. it’s an answer that she doesn’t believe could be an answer, but is one anyway. he shrugs at that, looking at her expectantly.

“hurry up, hurry up, we haven’t got all day!” england says, bustling around the room, pulling adjacent colonies together. australia screeches as new zealand’s hand slips into his, partly because he’s in the lady’s position and partly because…well, it’s new zealand. canada ends up on seychelles’ arm, the older nation having been roped into teaching on his rare visit. green eyes land on the two in the corner but skip past just as quickly. already assuming they were a pair, singapore realises with a jolt.

“you in or not?” says hong kong, wriggling his fingers. “if you really don’t wanna, i can make a diversion or something.” his eyes lower to the side, and singapore glimpses a thin string hanging out of his left boot, a faint cylindrical outline against the leather itself. _how did he even fit that- never mind, I don’t want to know._ hastily, she takes his hand and steps closer, resting her other hand on his shoulder. her face does not flush when he grins, gums showing. it definitely does not.

“you better not mess this up,” she threatens, but there’s no bite in her words. “i want that pudding.” hong kong squeezes her hand, long delicate fingers closing over it.

“trust me, we’re gonna win this, you and i.” he says, hand clasping her shoulder. she blinks up at him, mouth opening to say something, another quip, a jab, to preserve her dignity, but then the needle touches the disc, and the music begins.

they are _terrible._ hong kong leads them straight into the canada-seychelles pair, sending all four crashing to the ground. he twists his ankle. canada disappears in the mess. across the room, australia’s tarantula escapes the confines of his pocket. the room dissolves into chaos, as the furry black mass begins its reign of terror. singapore extricates herself from seychelles’ skirts, staring horrified at the scene, until the pungent smell of smoke suddenly sets her nose twitching. out of the corner of her eye, hong kong flicks his wrist, sending the firecracker hurtling through the air. she claps a hand over her mouth, shoulders shaking with laughter as the first explosions begin. she doesn’t stop giggling, not even when her ribs start to hurt, not even when her vision is blurry with tears, not even when england angrily sends all of them straight to bed at six in the afternoon with no pudding for anyone.

* * *

 

hong kong limps slowly up the stairs, blowing out the candles as he goes. he’d received a tongue lashing from england for the mischief and ordered to scrub the soot off the floor, but the colonial master had suddenly noticed the injury and had simply dismissed him. with any luck, by tomorrow someone else would have earned his ire, and hong kong’s deferred punishment would be forgotten. reaching the top of the stairs, he pushes open the closest door, his room dimly lit from the open window. he’s about to step in when he sees it, jerking to a halt. _oh._ his ankle twinges at the sudden abuse, but his eyes are fixed on the small pudding cup placed on his nightstand. a silver spoon is set to one side, gleaming in the moonlight. there’s no note, of course. she wouldn’t have left anything pointing to her.

but the next morning, when hong kong settles next to neatly braided dark hair bent over a book at breakfast, he just so happens to offer a newly washed spoon when her hand blindly scrabbles across the table, hunting for one for her half-boiled egg. her head snaps up when her fingers close over it, and the resulting flush of realisation and embarrassment that creeps across her face is more than enough for him. for now, at least.

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you enjoyed! Drop a kudos/comment if you have any constructive criticism/want to see more of this ridiculously niche ship that I write for fun (and suffering). One day I will release my Hong Kong/Singapore/Iceland rarepair fic and hide forever in shame.  
> Thanks for reading!


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